sober up, angel
by quorra laraex
Summary: Her dress is too tight, her heels are too high. And tonight's her first time drinking. — Soul/Maka


**sober up, angel**

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Her dress is skin tight.

The hemline is short, too short—if she bends over just a slight, it's all over for her.

He wonders if she's wearing panties or a thong, maybe. After the thought, he automatically shakes his head as if he could shake off the fact it had even crossed his mind. _So uncool_, he breathes.

It's definitely a thong. He wonders—no—he _knows_ that the majority of guys have been eyeing her, and it (no matter how uncool) irks him. He blames it on her (slim and smooth and longlong_long_) legs.

Her heels are four inches too high and her hair's grown long. Or maybe it had already been that length and he just hadn't noticed since it had always been tied up, even when they were at home. She's twirling a strand of ash blonde hair, which had been loose around her small waist, and batting those eyelashes as she pours herself a dose of tequila in a transparent pink cup.

Tonight's her first time drinking, and the sight is definitely amusing.

She had asked him about this a couple days beforehand; the last thing she wanted was to look like those innocent pricks who hadn't _lived_ a little in their lives—even when she pretty much was one. _What's a chaser_? _Why're the glasses so small_? _Whiskey or vodka_? _Do I need to pour it in a certain way_? _Do I have to chug it down_? _Will it burn_? _What does it taste like_? _I won't _die _right_? He cracked a wide grin when she sat beside him, eyes curious and lips tight because she was actually dead _serious _and her naivety with everything was really one of his favorite things about her.

He takes the time to sip at his beer and recognize the fact his technician is _such_ a lightweight. How cute. He pushes his milk white hair back with the small, barely noticeable grin that his best friend happens to catch as he ogles him. Black Star shuffles his way through the crowd and leans against the wall beside him.

"I sure know how to throw raging parties, huh?"

Soul flashes a grin in his direction. "Definitely."

"Blair even brought in tons of babes!" the blue-haired teen enthusiastically cheers, smile ear to ear.

Soul mumbles something in response that Black Star couldn't quite catch.

"_Wait_—," Black Star intrudes, pointing an indignant finger at his pal. "Are you saying you haven't laid one yet?!"

"Didn't plan on it," he shrugs sheepishly, and before his blue-eyed drunk of a friend could retort, Soul continues. "I gotta make sure Maka'll be okay for the night."

His eyes cast the direction of Soul's to the blonde at the bar, laughing with Liz and Tsubaki over something as they all take another shot. They, then, both catch as the blonde meister tugs at the sides of her dress, and Soul just about knows he's going to comment on it. "Maka's dressed a little too… girlish today?"

"Extremely."

"That thing is barely covering ass!"

"Stop looking," he deadpans and Black Star can only grin with those pearly whites and breath of booze.

Before he shuffles away and back into the crowd of dancing (or groping, rather) fiasco of girls, he obnoxiously encourages, "Ya better get on that!"

—

He didn't plan on doing it.

It was just so fucking tempting.

He _had_ to.

The way his hands glided her hips and oh-so-casually slid the hem of her dress higher and higher as their hips buckled on multicolored dance floor made Soul sick to his stomach as he watched the duo grind. The image of _his_ technician, _his_ roommate, _his_ girl dancing so provocatively on someone that wasn't _hi_—Soul stops his thoughts there while the stupid rhythm of the R&B music continues and dammit he fucking hated this sight and he fucking hated this song and he gradually made his way through the throng of girls and pigs that accompanied them and pulled his best friend away from that perverted bastard.

Maka whined, but Soul barely paid any attention as his fist kissed the gut of the boy's stomach. Knowing his weapon wasn't around Soul glared down at him and snarled, "You're lucky I didn't use the scythe."

And now his meister's continuously thwacking him here and there with her manicured hands in the cramped bathroom where he had pulled her after his little shenanigans to talk to her about the disgusting intentions of men, even when she should clearly know already. But she's barely listening and that's because she's drunk and there are tears in her eyes and she's constantly muttering that he's ruined her night.

He runs a hand through his already-tousled white spikes and tries to calm her down.

Words are slipping out of her over and over through thick and thin air and he usually always listens to her even when she doesn't think he is but she is far from sober and her words are slurred and he does not want to process and register every little slur that escapes those pretty painted crimson lips of hers but he sure as hell loves looking at them and _good god_ do her lips look good in red…

And then he thinks he fantasized it—that it was only his mind—when a certain fragment that spills from those plump and pouty lips of hers makes his chest stop beating.

Soul shakes his head unbelievably and blinks a couple of times before he shushes her ongoing paragraphs with his finger. "_What did you just say_?"

She looks up at him (despite the fact her heels are far too high for her liking, he's _still_ taller than she is—men and their damn growth spurt) with her large, olive eyes that used to reek of so much innocence until she repeats questioningly, batting her eyelashes unfazed. "I thought of you when I was out there, when I was dancing with him… and he was touching me and smothering me with his hands and I accidently whispered your name… but he didn't hear and that's good, right?" She pauses and Soul only stares in disbelief, unbeknownst to her. "I wish you liked me like that, Soul. I mean, I like you like that."

Maka perks up a little bit, walking toward him. Her heels click against the marble floor and then he remembers that they're actually locked up inside Black Star's condo bathroom. She slowly makes her way to him and he shudders at her breath whisking past his neck and he's suddenly uncomfortable. But Maka can't make him feel odd and out of breath and awkward, even, because she's _Maka_. So why is he like this now? Why is there a knot in his stomach and the breath is seemingly knocked out of him?

He's always loved her legs and her eyes and her silky hair and the way her voice says his name but her being completely intoxicated is a brand new level of sexy to him, and she's not even aware of her actions when she is. He can't decide whether this is bad or good.

But he doesn't care, because he kind of likes this; her fingers crawling up his chest and her eyes a smoldering moss with a new glint of seduction staring into his with such lust that sparked something in him and he hadn't even known she felt the same way he did.

She pulls his tie to level his eyes with hers, foreheads pushing against each other, her breath on his lips. He wants to kiss her, hard and long, but then he remembers she's drunk, and regaining his composure, backs away briskly. He's standing on ice with her here.

"Why don't you want me?" she whines, and he knows she doesn't realize how much he wants to rip that dress off of her. She corners him beside the window and demands an answer and he almost stutters. Almost.

He places his hands on her shoulders protectively. "I am not going to take advantage of you."

She pouts a bit and looks away from him, farther than the threshold they were in. Fuck, she's adorable.

In attempt to resist her unfazed, he averts his gaze and shifts a hand to the back of his neck and jams another in his pocket, trying to make his way to the door. Her stubbornness is still intact because she doesn't budge nor does she flinch when he tries to move her himself. Her hands are on her hips and there's an intensity in her eyes similar to when she's in battle. He tries hard not to crack a grin.

"Maka, _move_."

"Not until you touch me."

She's so damn _sexual_, he thinks. A sexual drunk. Was she _that _deprived? He flicks her forehead with his index finger shooting her a sly smile. "There. I touched you. Now move it."

She huffs, her cheeks a warm pink as she grabs his hands and places it on the curves of her ass. His eyes widen, unused to her being so—

"I'm horny," she giggles without a care and his face is heating up as he quickly removes his hands, but he knows he can't help the way his fingers graze across her smooth bottom while doing so. _Definitely a thong._

"No shit, Maka."

And it isn't as if he isn't though because he surely is and that's evident in the uncomfortable bulge in his black pants which he's been trying to push downward to prevent her from noticing. And the blonde girl might have noticed the way he couldn't keep his gaze on her for too long because every time he looks into these brilliantly shaded bottle green eyes he isn't sure of what his body will do. And so he slouches against the frame of the window, waiting for her to soothe out and calm down. His blood red orbs makes their way back to her who's pulling at her face and eyelashes in the mirror and Soul has an urge to film her. Sometime later she's even able to force him out of his leather jacket with the excuse of being cold, but Soul can see through her.

It amazes him the way her hormones control her and alter her in a mere blink of an eye because one minute she's making faces in her reflection and the next she's asking for one kiss before he leaves. (because he was _finally_ able to pass her and get to the door; and because they had already missed the famous yearly count-down)

Not that he _wanted_ to leave, but he knows if he stayed any longer, someone would inevitably catch them and just _know_ they were up to no good and he could not have Black Star up his ass about this one—especially when Soul did not want to initiate anything.

But god _dammit_ did he want to kiss her, she was pleading him for one with those begging peas of hers and that stupid, fucking, irresistible pout. But he needs to be cool, act cool, and stay cool, recollecting himself before he lowers his lips to the rim of her pierced ear and huskily purrs.

"I don't want our first kiss to be long forgotten."

She feels the smirk on his lips before he pulls away and she blinks at him. His inner middle and forefinger are met with his lips before he silently pushes them against her own lips, a print of her ruby lipstick stained on his skin. Leaving her with an indirect meet of the lips, Soul trails out with a soft smile on his face, her name on his tongue, her raspberry perfume on his jacket, and a new knowledge of lust that he hadn't known was there all along.

The next morning she'll wake up with a pounding headache, unable to recall the night, while he'll be beside her smirking as he gives her some pain killers and a soft kiss on her forehead.

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**a/n: **I hope you liked this! i had a random outburst of feels for them and so i guess this little drabble came out. please review :') i'd love to know what you think or if you'd want a sequel.

Happy new years!


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